


Trainwreck

by tbhcumedpant



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Confessions, Drug Use, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Requited Unrequited Love, Sharing a Room, it's just weed though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29019738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tbhcumedpant/pseuds/tbhcumedpant
Summary: Elliot and Tyrell smoke a fat doobie in Amsterdam ;)
Relationships: Elliot Alderson & Tyrell Wellick, Elliot Alderson/Tyrell Wellick
Kudos: 12





	Trainwreck

**Author's Note:**

> Buongiorno B^)  
> So, here's another really short one. I think I wrote this fic a year ago? Posting it bc I just found it and we (the 3 people left in this fanbase) are all starved for content

It was the prettiest of times, it was the shittiest of times. Or whatever Dickens said. Tyrell and I travelled to Amsterdam, just for the weekend, just because his outrageous salary meant he could afford it. We stayed at a hotel near the red light district and we took a lot of walks and he remarked how the _whores_ , as he called them, looked pretty. Almost too much so. He told me the red light used to have a purpose. To cover up the itchy redness of various STDs. We bought weed, I mean, of course we did. We weren’t there for the art or the architecture or the waffles. We bought Trainwreck, a sativa dominant strain. He didn’t know what that meant, but I told him it’d feel nice. That we’d be euphoric. I guess that’s what we needed at the time. And so, we smoked the pre-rolled joint out of our room’s window. Despite the no smoking sign, or maybe because of it, I don’t know anymore. And it did feel nice. Warm. Elevated. Paradoxically present.

“How is it?” I asked, flicking the filter out into the street.

“Good, I think,” he said, “how about you?”

“Same here,” I answered. And it was silent for a while.

I was too paranoid to say anything else, maybe because of the drug, maybe because of my nature, who knows. But I guess at some point the THC started to have an effect on Tyrell, because he couldn’t stop talking. About how society’s weird and time isn’t linear. He said it was more like an infinite spiral or an ever growing circle that’ll collapse in on itself at some point. It felt like he wasn’t really talking to me, but more so trying to capture his thoughts before they spread out like particles and dissolved into the air. He was pacing around the room for a while, then he sat down on the bed, next to me. I guess I looked anxious. Or paranoid. I guess I didn’t look well, because he asked me what was up.

“Nothing,” I said.

“I think I love you,” he spluttered, out of nowhere.

“Uh, love you too, man,” I said, before adding “but not like…--”

“No, not like that. Of course not,” he assured nervously. He had a wife, after all.

“Then why do you look so down?”

I guess I was disappointed. Because I liked him a lot. Like you like a lover, almost. But not in the romantic way, no, I wouldn’t be caught dead kissing him. He was my friend. That shit would be fucking weird. And I was angry about the black and white binary of platonic and romantic feelings, because I felt as if there had to be more. Something where you don’t want to sleep with a person you’re close to, but you don’t want anyone else to, either. I’d gotten into way too many relationships just because of that. Just to keep a person to myself.

“I guess it’s the weed,” he muttered. The ceiling lamp was too yellow.

“Yeah, my first time smoking was weird, too.”


End file.
